


Last day on earth

by WingcommanderArthurShappey



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Other, you find Arthur in a philosophical mood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 08:57:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2018961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingcommanderArthurShappey/pseuds/WingcommanderArthurShappey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dance like nobody's watching? No, no - it's work like nobody's dancing; sit down like nobody's business.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last day on earth

People say a lot of confusing things. Everyone who's met Arthur doesn't only know that his hair is brown and always a bit of a mess and that he's tall, but looks like he should be short and that he likes bears, but also that he really doesn't understand other people sometimes. What they say, that is. There are many things about other people that are brilliant and fascinating and confusing, and the stuff they say is a huge part of that. Arthur's learned quite a lot, but he still doesn't understand everything, and he's glad he's got Douglas and Mum and Skip to help him translate. (Where it's getting a bit complicated is when he doesn't understand what _they'r_ e trying to say, and sometimes, only sometimes, they start making fun of him, and he doesn't mind, but it's not very helpful, just even more confusing.)  
He thinks about those things a lot. Today he thinks about the day he'll die.

Arthur doesn't know what he'll be doing on his last day on earth - but he kind of hopes he'll go with a bang, not literally, because that sounds unpleasant, but in a way that's fun and exciting and fast and happy. Maybe he'll get eaten by a bear. Maybe he'll fall out of a roller coaster. Or maybe he'll just trip over his shoelaces and fall on something hard and sharp. Nobody knows. But one thing is certain - he _is_ going to die one day, and that's not a bad thing. Everyone (probably apart from Mum and maybe Douglas) is going to die, and if you're really going to spend the rest of eternity in a place that is full of otters, why would anyone mind?

  
The thing is, even though he's okay with dying, he doesn't think saying goodbye forever is a nice thing.

  
No one would like having to say goodbye for good, right?

  
Then _why_ live every day as if it was your last one?

It doesn't make _sense_.

Arthur knows exactly what he'd do if he knew it was his last day on earth. He'd sit down and cry, because even though he's not overly afraid to die - because life is brilliant, so why should death be anything less than that? -, he'd quite like to stay alive for a little bit longer, and then he'd say bye to Mum and Douglas and Skip and Herc and Snoopadoop and Karl and Dirk the groundsman and Mrs Lacefield and Wendy and the engineers and the fire crew, and then he'd cry some more, and then he'd probably die. And that sounds awful.

It just doesn't make sense. Most sayings don't, but this one is especially silly.

What _would_ make sense was to say that you should live every day as though it was your _first_ one, to discover every brilliant and fascinating thing anew.

Eat every ice cream cone like it was your very first one.

Enjoy every kiss like you'd never kissed before.

Go walkies with Snoopadoop like it was your first time outside.

Make teas and coffees for the gents in the flight deck like it was the first time you're making teas and coffees for anyone; precise and careful and happy.

And when Gertie takes off, grip your arm rests like you were afraid to drop out of the sky like a stone because you still couldn't believe that you're actually flying.

 _That_ would make _more_ sense.

But there's only one thing that makes _actual_ sense: Live every day like it's a _day_ , and stop telling people what to do.

Enjoy your ice cream cones and kisses and walks and teas and coffees and take-offs like it doesn't _matter_ if it's your first or last or millionth time, and maybe, you'll still feel that tingling in your belly that tells you that nothing's actually changed, because that's the brilliancy of all the brilliant things in the world: they're _always_ exciting.

You don't have to feel guilty about not going skydiving or swimming with manatees or even watching your favourite film every day of your life, because some days are just that: _Days_.

And if you only focus on the giant things, big goodbyes and adventures and enjoyments, you stop noticing the little ones, and that's a lot sadder than realising that some days are for hoovers and tinned food and long phone calls and paperwork, even if you've never done any paperwork in your life, not even once.

So, there's that.

And now he's going to eat a toblerone.

For the millionth time. 


End file.
